


all your protests and vacant excuses ring insincere (all your nightmares have come to you at last)

by bloodredcherries



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-18
Updated: 2019-08-24
Packaged: 2019-08-25 08:48:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16657930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodredcherries/pseuds/bloodredcherries
Summary: "Alice, you're up. What's your deepest, darkest secret?" -"Um - Let's skip her.""Alice, just tell them about the time you lit a dumpster on fire in the Southside.""Why don't you tell them that you actually live in Sunnyside Trailer Park?"“I thought you lived on Elm street.”“Yeah.”“Of course, because that's what Forsythe wants you to believe. You parade around the school in your varsity jacket like a Northsider. Don't kid yourself, you'll never escape the Southside. You're gonna end up just like your dad. Downing six packs in your double wide.”“Maybe, but I'm not gonna hit my kid.Not like my old man hits me.” (The Midnight Club)Stuck in Saturday detention for eight hours, Alice, Hermione, Sierra, FP, Penelope, and Fred decided to pass the time by playing a rousing game of Secrets and Sins. When Alice Smith accidentally revealed her ‘big secret’ (she was from the Southside, okay? Promises of a life for her child that lacked physical violence were downright romantic), the unlikely group of misfits decides that they are going to strike up a friendship.The Saturday meetings are perhaps unorthodox. But what else does this motley crew have?





	1. here i am, standing on my own (not a motion from the telephone)

“Wait!” Alice heard herself exclaim, her voice frantic, as Penelope opened her mouth to tell her secret. “I really do have a secret,” she said, and she wrapped her arms around herself, torn between making something up and telling FP the truth. “You have an opportunity to prove that you’re not like your father.” 

 

The chatter in the detention room ceased, and Alice became painfully aware that all eyes were on her, and on FP. She wanted to disappear. “What the hell are you talking about, Alice?” FP demanded. 

 

“I mean, that I’m pregnant,” she whispered. “I’m pregnant, and it’s yours, and you’ve been too busy screwing all of the damn River Vixens to even bother to listen to me when I tell you that we need to talk!” The embarrassment she’d felt at everyone knowing her dirty little secret was erased by the anger that coursed through her veins as she remembered how she had tried to convince FP to speak to her  _ so many damn times _ prior to their mutual detention, all of which he had ditched in order to score with Northside, cheerleader, ass. “You really  _ suck _ you know that, right?” 

 

“That’s why you wanted to talk to me?” He asked. “I thought you were just jealous.”   
  


“Are you on crack? Why the  _ hell _ would I be jealous of your little Vixen harem? You made it clear that we were  _ nothing _ and then you went and  _ ruined _ my life.” 

 

“But, you’re really pregnant?” 

 

“Sierra says that there’s only a 3% chance of a false positive,” she muttered, and she crossed her arms. “Trust me, I  _ really _ wish that I was in that 3%. For both of our sakes.”  She watched, as FP licked his lips, and she tugged her jacket closer, feeling incredibly exposed. There wasn’t anything to see, of course, she couldn’t have been very far along, but she was painfully aware that her exposed midriff had become a reason for people to stare. Hermione and Sierra weren’t staring at her like she was on display in a museum, but the same could not be said for Penelope, and Fred. FP at least had the decency to look her in the eyes, when he wasn’t fumbling with his cast or blinking rapidly. “Are you alright?”   
  


“My baby? It’s mine?”   
  


“If it wasn’t yours, do you think we’d be having this conversation?”

 

“Jesus, Alice,” he breathed. “What the hell do I know about this? When the hell did you find out?”

 

She eyed him, and arched a brow. “Earlier this week,” she said. “Directly before my little...argument with Penelope.” She sighed. “Why do you care, Forsythe? You’ll never get to Elm Street with  _ this _ attached to you. Your little Vixen sluts will never fuck you again if they hear that you knocked me up.”

 

“Maybe I don’t care about that,” he said. “Christ, Al. You’re having our baby. That’s more important.”   
  


“What?” Alice watched as FP lurched to his feet (nearly toppling himself over in the process), and she managed to hold back the groan that threatened to emerge when he crossed the room to her, and squeezed into the space between her and Penelope. “What the hell are you doing?”

 

“I don’t want to be like my dad,” he mumbled. “Not just about the hitting.” She sighed. “I want to get out of the Southside, but, not if it’s at the expense of you, of our family.” 

 

“FP…” 

 

“This is lame,” Penelope announced. “It’s my turn to share.”   
  


Alice found herself tolerating the presence of FP’s arm slung over her shoulders (as if he actually thought she would buy his possessive attempt at pretending she was someone he was proud of), and she leaned into him as Penelope rambled. (Alice sensed that it was an Important Conversation that was occurring, but she paid it little mind.) It had been so long since she had been treated with any sort of affection that wasn’t pure lust by FP, and, if she wanted to enjoy it, she was going to. 

 

“Come over, when we’re done here?” He asked. “Dad’s...doing who the fuck knows with the Serpents, we’d have the trailer to ourselves. We could hang out like you’ve wanted to?”

 

“Yeah, alright,” she said, and she shrugged. Agreeing to hang out with FP was the path of least resistance. And it wasn’t like she had anything better to do. “Why are you all  _ staring _ at us?” 

 

“I was telling everyone how the Blossoms adopted me to become Clifford’s wife,” Penelope spluttered. “And the two of you are over here making eyes at each other.” 

 

“That’s disgusting,” she muttered. “What is the matter with you? That’s incesteous!”   
  


“What are you  _ talking _ about?” She demanded. “I’m adopted.”   
  


“He’s your brother,” Hermione interjected. “Seriously, Penelope, it’s weird.”    
  


“At least my mother doesn’t clean people’s bathrooms for a living!”

Alice rolled her eyes, shifting closer to FP as Penelope threw herself at Hermione, and the fists began to fly. It was obvious to her that Penelope the loose cannon was the problem in this situation, and she entirely blamed her for the fight in the bathroom that had caused her to need to attend detention in the first place. Everyone thought that Alice was Southside trouble, even when faced with evidence it was a Northsider that caused it. 

 

“Stop it, you guys!” She exclaimed, not that it had any affect on the twosome. “Principal Featherhead is going to hear us!”

  
  


***

  
  


“This is fucking bullshit,” FP announced, as he and Alice headed away from Riverdale High, unfortunately on foot. He couldn’t afford a car, and his jackass of a father wouldn’t let him borrow the bike because he didn’t want to be a Serpent. He knew Alice and her mother couldn’t afford anything like that. “Four Saturday detentions for all of us? Just because Penelope and Hermione wouldn’t stop whaling on each other?” He shook his head. “Fuck.”

 

“I don’t understand why everyone has so many problems,” Alice mused. “I thought it was just me. Did you know about Fred’s dad?”   
  


FP shrugged. “He doesn’t like to talk about it,” he said. “Says it makes him sad.” He sighed. “Uh, how are you feeling?”   
  


“You don’t have to pretend to care about the baby, or me,” she whispered. “We’re alone now, you don’t have an audience to impress.” 

 

“I’m  _ not _ pretending,” he insisted. “I really want to know.”

 

She glanced up at him. “Not much really to know right now,” she admitted. “I haven’t been to a doctor or anything. I can’t really afford it, neither can my mom. Not that she knows. Because she doesn’t.” 

 

“There’s a clinic, you know,” he said, and he jammed his hands in the pockets of his letterman. “Up in Spring Valley. I would take you, and we could make sure that things are okay?” 

 

That was what people did, wasn’t it? When their ...whatever the fuck Alice’s was to hims got pregnant? Step up and try not to fuck up their kid? Not that FP had ever had that slight courtesy given to him in life. His mother had run off when his father’s drinking had gotten bad, and left him to rot in Sunnyside. She didn’t even return his calls, and rarely sent money. And his father...Forsythe Sr. was a jackass, even on his rare moments of sobering up (they usually meant that he remembered precisely why he hated FP with a shocking amount of clarity), so he was at a loss there for what people did when they were going to be parents. 

 

“Okay,” she said after a moment. “If you want to.” 

 

“Yeah, I want to,” he insisted. “I don’t care about the other girls,” he said. “You’re having my baby, and that’s what’s important. I don’t want our child to have to deal with what we’ve had to deal with,” he said. “I just want you, and the kid, to be okay.”   
  


“Thanks, Jonesy,” she whispered. “I’m so scared.” 

 

“Yeah, well, me too,” he admitted. “I’m so sorry, Al.” He carefully wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close. “I’m sorry that I blew you off, that I didn’t listen when you said you needed to talk.” 

 

“Your apologies mean next to nothing to me,” she said. “You always apologize, and you never mean it. And I know that it’s because I’m the trashy Southside bastard, but, it still hurts. I always believe you and you  _ never _ live up to your sorries.” Her eyes flashed. “But, whatever. You knocked me up and you claim to care about the kid,” she said. “I won’t be selfish and deny the baby that miracle. Not that I have any idea what having a father is like.” 

 

“It really bothered you that much?” 

 

“That after years you suddenly claimed that we weren’t serious and that we weren’t exclusive because  _ you _ made varsity and suddenly all of the Vixens were hanging on to you and you  _ liked _ that, didn’t you, FP? You liked how you could wear this stupid jacket and pretend that you were something you weren’t, because you finally got something that would allow you to claim a pedigree? So suddenly I was trash, because unlike you I wear my Serpents jacket at school? You can claim that you don’t want to join your father’s gang all you want, but I know the truth. I was there when you got that tattoo.” 

 

“Alice--”

 

“Don’t you dare Alice me. You think you’re the only person on the Southside that wants to get out of that shitbox trailer park? Did you really think that little of me that you couldn’t tell me about how you wanted to go to college, Forsythe? I wouldn’t have judged you. I’m not your father.” 

 

“I know you’re not my father, Al,” he managed to interject, when Alice paused to take a breath. “I just...you like the Serpents. You’re not being groomed to take a role that you don’t want to take because of where you came from.”

 

“Do you know  _ why _ I like the Serpents so much?” Alice demanded. “It’s not because I adore tending bar at the Wyrm while your father and his idiot urchins hit on me. It is a means to escape, to feel like there is some place I even remotely belong. I--”

 

“My dad hits on you?” FP growled, and he clenched his fists. “What the hell, Smith? Why didn’t you say anything?”   
  


“Right. Because telling the Serpent King that he shouldn’t try to touch his son’s teenage friends would have ended so well. Not to mention, I am sure that he would have taken it out on you. Which, as we have established, and everyone in Saturday detention knows, is a habit of his. I can defend myself, FP. I would much rather do so, especially if I know that defending myself? Means that you won’t get hurt. He might have only broken your arm now. But what would he do next?”   
  


“It would be worth it,” he said roughly. 

 

“Not if he  _ killed you _ it wouldn’t be!” She exclaimed. “What is the matter with you? Every time that I see you with another bruise on you, or another injury that you claim is from sports, I worry that it will be the last. If letting a bunch of middle aged gangbangers hit on me means that you won’t bear the consequences? That is a risk I’m willing to take.” She scowled. “It’s not like what they say isn’t true. My mother was the Serpent slut, and soon everyone will know just how similar we are.” 

 

“You’re not a slut,” he mumbled. “Al, you’re not. Just because you’re pregnant--”   
  


“You know that no one will see it like that,” she said, her tone saddened. “No matter how much you want things to be different.” 

 

He sighed. “Alice.”

 

“What?”

 

“There is...one thing that would make people see it differently.” 

 

“What are you talking about?”

 

He sighed again. “Well, for the Northsiders, there’s a ring on your finger. And, for us...I could make you my queen.” 

 

“You would do that for me?”

 

FP nodded. “For you, for the baby, yeah. I would. We take care of our own, Alice. I think that that baby inside of you that that’s half you half me trumps my feelings on being the Serpent King, if caving to my dad means that it would protect the both of you.” There were tears in Alice’s eyes, and he wondered if he had said the wrong thing. “Al, Allie, I’m sorry. Don’t cry. We don’t have to. It was just an idea.” 

 

“I didn’t know that you would be willing to do that for me,” she said. “I’m sorry, I’m not upset. I’m just--just overwhelmed. I think it’s the hormones.” 

 

“Hormones?”

 

“Yes,” she told him. “I’m not upset,” she insisted. “I can’t believe that you would do that for me, Jonesy. It means a lot. And I was so  _ horrible  _ to you in detention. I said those horrible things.”

 

“Not like you’re not wrong,” he sighed. “It’s alright, Al. Don’t beat yourself up over it. 

 

“How did you know where the clinic was?” Alice asked, her tone curious, and she peered up at him. 

 

“Mom made me go with her once,” he muttered. “Said that if things had been different I might have been a big brother.” He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. I would have sucked at that, too.” 

 

“She shouldn’t have said that to you,” Alice told him, as a scowl marred her features. He watched her tug her jacket closer to her. “You were a kid, weren’t you? I mean, she’s been gone for years. We were little then.” 

 

“I was eight,” he supplied. “What’s with you? Are you cold? Take my letterman.” 

 

“I’m not cold,” she muttered. “I just...what if everyone can  _ tell _ that I’m pregnant, and I just don’t notice it because it’s my body? I’m going to look  _ so _ gross.” 

 

“You don’t look pregnant,” he said, practically on reflex. “You’ll still be hot, Alice. You’d never look gross.” He slipped out of the blue and gold jacket, and draped it over her shoulders. “I want you to wear it anyways,” he told her. “So everyone knows that you’re my girl.”   
  


“That will be a turnup for the books,” Alice said, her lips quirking in a grin. “What ever will your little Vixen groupies think, Forsythe Pendleton?” He watched her as she slipped her arms into the jacket, and the almost feral grin that came over her features made his blood run cold. “Oh, I can’t wait to see the looks on their faces come Monday.” 

 

“Don’t you think that you shouldn’t be causing trouble--”

 

“I don’t  _ cause _ trouble,” she said, her words smooth, and her gaze innocent. “It just...constantly happens to find me.” 

 

“Yeah, well, try not to find it,” he said. “You know, for the baby’s sake.”   
  


“Okay,” she agreed. “I’ll try.” 

  
  


***

  
  


“I don’t understand why you didn’t tell anyone about your dad,” Hermione asked Fred, who had invited her over to his house after detention. “I mean, maybe we’re not that close anymore, but we’re still your friends,” she pointed out. “Well...FP and I are,” she corrected. “Perhaps not the others.” 

 

“It’s not a big deal,” he said, and she watched him shrug his shoulders. “I’m sure that he’ll get better,” he continued. “He goes to Mt. Sinai for treatments now.”

 

“In Manhattan?” She demanded. “Why aren’t they treating him in Greendale?” 

 

“They were, at least at first,” he told her. “But then they decided that going to the city was the better option. What? Do you think that’s weird?”

 

“Fred,” she said, her tone gentle, and her touch on his arm one designed to provide comfort “Carino, you know that that’s probably  _ not _ a good sign, right? Having to go all the way to New York for treatment? What’s the matter with him?”   
  


“He’s got cancer, Hermione,” Fred replied. “He’s barely even able to work anymore. I don’t know what we’re going to do with the company.” 

 

“I thought that FP’s dad worked with him?” She asked. 

 

It had been a long time since Hermione and FP had really been in the same social circles, they had grown apart since the days that they had all been in the same elementary school class. Hermione’s mother and father really didn’t approve of their daughter being friends with boys (it was important for her to focus on her studies, rather than dating and other social pursuits), and, well, FP had developed such a reputation that even Señor and Señora Gomez had noticed. 

 

So, judging by Fred’s facial expression, her information was both erroneous and dated. 

 

“FP’s dad runs the Serpents,” he said. “He doesn't have much time for things like honest work.” 

 

“I don’t understand,” she said. “What are the Serpents?”

 

“That gang that controls the Southside,” he whispered. “They’re bad news, Hermione. Stay away from them.” 

 

“Isn’t Alice a Serpent?” Hermione remembered seeing the Serpent logo on the leather jacket that Alice clung to as a fashion security blanket. “I think that you’re just misunderstanding them,” she continued. “These are our friends, Fred. We’re in a band together. How could you not tell them these things?”   
  


“Because, my dad is going to get better,” he said, his tone flat. “Dad is going to get better and nothing will need to be said about it again.” 

 

Hermione felt very dubious that this was the case, but she decided to let Fred have his moment of positive thinking. There was nothing wrong with thinking positively, she reminded herself. Even when thinking positively about something like this sounded like inane denials to Hermione Gomez. She recognized that Fred needed to have some sort of control over the situation, and graciously decided to relinquish her desire to remind him of reality. 

 

“Are you sure that you want me to come over?” 

 

“Yeah, of course,” he said. “Mom misses you. She keeps wondering when you’ll be around.” 

 

Hermione liked Mrs. Andrews. She was always pleasant to her. Which was a refreshing change compared to the majority of the adults in Riverdale, who shared opinions that Penelope Blossom had, with Hermione, her mother and father, and the entire world. Alice and FP’s respective parents treated her the worst, which she thought was rich, because they certainly weren’t any better than the Gomezes were. At least her parents had actual jobs, even if the jobs they had were her source of constant teenage embarrassment. 

 

“I just wanted to make sure that your dad was going to be okay with it,” she admitted. “I don’t want to bother him, if he’s not doing well. I’ll only stay for a little.”

 

The Andrews family lived on Elm Street, in a perfectly lovely home, that was marred by only the presence of the family next door, the Coopers. Mr. and Mrs. Cooper owned the sole paper in Riverdale, the Riverdale Register, and spent their days writing inflammatory articles about whatever they had deemed worthy of their never-ending judgment and disapproval when preparing the day’s edition, whether it was their complaints about the Southside of town, or their complaints about how Riverdale was becoming more diverse by the day. She wasn’t very fond of them, but the real issue that Hermione had with visiting Fred and his family was the Cooper’s son. Hal Cooper was a Bulldog like Fred and FP, but he was mean. Hermione thought that FP’s BMOC routine was a way to protect himself, a shield of sorts, but Hal was worse than  _ any _ of the other jocks. She was almost glad that Alice had told FP about the baby, because Hal had  _ definitely _ been sniffing around the blonde. 

 

Still, it had been awhile since she’d seen Mr. and Mrs. Andrews. She had missed them. 

 

“Fred? Why is Oscar here?”

 

“Mom said he might be coming by,” he said, and he shrugged. “Maybe he missed us?”

 

Hermione raised a brow, blinking at him in bewilderment. “Right, I’m sure  _ that’s _ why he came home from Chicago.” 

 

“What are you getting at?”   
  


“I’m not “getting” at anything,” she said. “I just wonder if perhaps you are in denial?” Hermione thought back to the last time she had interacted with Mr. Andrews. It had been after one of their band rehearsals, a few months back, and he’d come out after they were all done to lecture them, but, not in the way that she had assumed they would be lectured. The songs they had been rehearsing had been particularly loud, and she was sure that the Coopers had called the Andrewses to complain about the ‘noise violations’ (even though it was barely 7pm, and Hal was a zillion times more obnoxious than the Fred Heads could dream of being), but, instead, he had turned on FP and Alice for the cigarettes they were smoking. The evening had ended with herself and Sierra being driven home by Mrs. Andrews, after Fred had stormed up to his room when it became clear that FP and Alice had driven away on the bike and were not coming back. “Don’t you remember the argument that he got into with FP about those clove cigarettes?” She wrinkled her nose. 

 

“That’s just because Dad can’t smoke on his treatments. He’s just jealous.”

 

Hermione raised a brow. “I don’t think your father is jealous of hand rolled Serpent cigarettes, Freddie.” She shrugged. “Alright, say that you’re right. It would still be nice to see your brother.” 

 

“So, you’re still coming in?” He asked, and she heard the tremor of uncertainty in his voice. “I mean, please--   
  


“Yes, Freddie,” she assured him. “I’m still coming in. Don’t worry about it.”

 

Hermione stood behind Fred as he fumbled with his house keys, trying not to feel completely out of place in the tony neighborhood. It wasn’t as nice as Thornhill, she noted, but...well, Hermione could see why FP had pretended that he lived there. Elm Street was definitely nicer than either of them could afford. At least the Coopers weren’t home, she thought. There was that tiny miracle. She was sure that either of them spotting her at the Andrewses front door would have led to at Register-led inquisition. And she couldn’t do that to Fred’s parents. When Fred finally got the door open, she followed him into the house, smoothing down her skirt as she did. There were voices coming from the kitchen, and she nudged him in their direction, not wanting to be perceived as rude. Hermione liked Fred’s family, and she wasn’t a pawn to be used to ignore them. Beside her, he sighed. 

 

“Mom? Dad?” He called out, affecting a tone of cheer that would have made Alice roll her eyes at him, were she here. Hermione was thankful the two Southsiders had wandered away before Fred could invite them over. This was obviously something that needed to be dealt with with them, but...it could wait. “Hermione’s come over.” 

 

“We need to go in and see them,” she hissed, her tone low. “Or I will call FP right now and make  _ him _ deal with you. And if you don’t think he and Alice aren’t doing something that they won’t want interrupted, Fred, you are unbelievably naive.”  

 

“What do you think they’re doing?”

 

Hermione stared. “What do you  _ think _ they’re doing, Fred? They’re having a baby together.” She let out a sigh. “It’s FP and Alice, Fred. What do they always do?”

 

“You don’t actually think…?” Fred gaped. “Jesus, Hermione.” 

 

Mrs. Andrews flitted into the hallway, and she plastered a smile on her face, directed at the older woman. Hermione knew very well how to play the roles that society had foisted upon her. She wasn’t a stupid girl. Smiling politely and keeping the peace were skills that had been easy enough to cultivate over the years. “Hello, Mrs. Andrews,” she said. “Is it alright that I came over?” Fred shot her a wounded look, but she ignored him. “If it’s a bad time, with Oscar coming home, and all, I can just take my leave.” 

 

“It’s good to see you, Hermione,” she said, and Hermione let her pull her into a hug. “I’m glad that you stopped by. The band isn’t rehearsing today, are they?”

 

“No--”

 

“We  _ could  _ be--”

 

“No, we’re not,” she insisted. “It would be terribly rude to interrupt Oscar’s visit with a band rehearsal that we decided to have on a whim, wouldn’t it be?”

 

Fred drooped. Mrs. Andrews smiled at her. “Why don’t you join us for dinner?” She suggested. “We’re going to go to Pops.”

 

“Uh--”

 

“Artie will be glad to see you,” she pointed out. “He’s always liked you kids.” 


	2. every time i wake (i ponder on my mistakes)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Fred has cable,” Alice said, her tone wistful. “And two parents.”

“...you kept this?” FP asked, as he eyed the positive pregnancy test that Alice had pulled out of her jacket and thrown on the table. “Why would you keep this?” 

 

“I didn’t mean to,” she admitted, as she sat on the kitchen table, still wearing his letterman jacket, her blond hair spiraling over it in waves. “Penelope had come into the bathroom, and I panicked. I didn’t want her to know. I still don’t, honestly. You got anything to eat?”

 

“So, you’re  _ definitely _ pregnant,” he settled on, as he made note of the positive result on the test. “How far along?” He crossed the room to the fridge, and pulled down a bag of chips. “This okay? Or do you want something else?” What the hell did he know about pregnant chicks, and what was good for them to eat? Jack.

 

“I don’t know,” she answered truthfully. “I guess we’ll find out at the clinic.” She sighed. “The chips are fine, Jones.” She reached out for them, and he handed her the bag. “Things still the same as ever here?” 

 

“My dad’s a drunk who never gave a shit about me, and he’s going to get what he’s always wanted from me,” FP said, and he scowled. “What else is new?”

 

“You don’t have--”

 

“Yeah, Al, I do,” he said. “For you, and for the baby, okay? Doesn’t mean it has to thrill me that my old man is going to view it as a win.” 

 

“What do you want to do about the baby?” Alice asked, as he watched her shovel the chips in her mouth. “Do you want to keep it...or…”

 

“What do you mean? What’s ‘or’? Like an abortion, or something?” He shook his head. “Cos, Al, I don’t want you to have an abortion,” he rambled. “I mean, if it’s really what you want, it’s whatever, but I  _ don’t _ want that.” Unable to look Alice in the eyes while she responded, he settled for grabbing some chocolate he’d lifted from the corner store, and hoisted himself up to join her on the table. His broken arm screamed in protest, but, whatever. He was just going to ignore that. “Or do you mean like...giving it away? What if a family like Penelope’s adopts it? The kid would be even more fucked than it’ll be being raised by us in a double wide.” 

 

“No, I don’t want an abortion,” she said after a moment. “I  _ meant _ putting it up for adoption, but you...do have a point.” She sighed. “So, I guess that brings us to keeping it.” She reached for the chocolates. “Is that really what you want, though? I mean...you want to go to college, Jonesy. We’d probably just drag you down.” 

 

“You wouldn’t drag me down,” he insisted. “I wouldn’t want to make you do it alone, Al. It’s our kid. I’d get a job...I would make it so we’d  _ both _ be able to go...so the kid wouldn’t want for a damn thing. Maybe we’d even be able to afford cable for it.” 

 

“Fred has cable,” Alice said, her tone wistful. “And two parents.” 

 

“See? It’s totally something that happens in real life,” he said, clinging to the reminder of the nuclear family that was the Andrews family. “Do you think Fred was telling the truth?”   
  


“About?” 

 

“His dad. Do you think he’s really dying?”

 

“Why would he  _ lie  _ about that?” Alice asked. “It seems like a shitty thing to lie about. It’s Fred. He’s not us. Give me a piece of candy.” 

 

“Have you eaten anything else today?” She shook her head, and she delicately took a piece of chocolate from the bag. “‘Kay, you can eat the rest of it,” he insisted. “Where’s your mom?”

 

“She hasn’t been home,” Alice said, and she rolled her eyes. “And when she is home we don’t have any food either, because why would she spend money on things like that when there is booze and smokes? I could move you in with us and she wouldn’t even notice, she’s so damn strung out half the time.” She sighed. “Remember how Fred’s mother used to feed us?” Her tone was dreamy. He nodded. “I wonder if she still would?”

 

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” FP asked. “I mean, if his dad is sick, and whatever?”   
  


“It would rude to not visit Mr. Andrews,” she informed him. “And if Mrs. Andrews takes pity on us and makes us a meal? How unbelievably rude  _ that _ would be to refuse.” She smirked. “Plus, don’t you want to show me the house that you’re pretending you live in? I’m assuming it’s not theirs.” 

 

“Fuck, no,” he said. “Fuck, it’s that pompous ass Hal Cooper’s.”    
  


Alice giggled. “You’re pretending to live in  _ Hal Cooper’s _ house?”

 

“Don’t see why I shouldn’t,” he said. “Good as house as ever, ain’t it?”

 

“My God, just imagine what they would say?” She grinned widely. “That would be like  _ ten _ shitty articles in their paper, FP.” 

 

“It would be worth it, though,” he insisted. “You really want to go to Fred’s?”

 

Alice nodded. “Yeah, I mean, it feels super shitty that we’re all in the band together, and we all play in their garage, and we didn’t even know that Mr. A was sick. I know that we have a reputation on the Northside, but...Jesus Christ.” 

 

“That’s true,” he agreed. He ran his hand through his hair. “Fuck.”

 

“They must think we’re horrible,” she mused. “What do you bring to visit someone who’s sick?”

 

“You think I know?” FP retorted. “What the hell do we even  _ have _ to bring him? Why do you think we need to?”

 

“Because, that’s what people do, isn’t it? Bring sick people flowers and candy or whatever?”

 

“That’s what  _ Northsiders _ do,” he sighed. “Mr. and Mrs. Andrews wouldn’t accept them from us,” he said. “They know the truth about who we are.”

 

“We should still go visit,” she insisted. “I know that he doesn’t get along with your dad anymore,” she said. “I know that he fired him, and that Serpent loyalty states that we stick with our own, but…” Alice trailed off. “They were nice to us. What if he’s dying, Jonesy? And we never even acknowledged anything of it--”   
  


“Hey, chill out,” he said. “We’ll go, okay? I would rather be there than here right now, anyways. I know what we’ll do,” he decided. “I’ll give him a pack of smokes. They’re something he could use, and I lifted three cartons a couple months ago.” 

 

“I guess,” Alice said, her tone dubious. “Bring them with us,” she agreed. “We can...see if they’ll be acceptable by reading the room.” 

 

“Why wouldn’t they be?” He asked. “Artie smokes.”

 

“Don’t you remember?” She said, her tone bitter. “He flipped his nut on us for splitting a smoke after rehearsal a few weeks ago. It was beyond rude of him.” 

 

“Oh,” he said. “Yeah, I remember that,” he allowed. “You think that he was sick then?”

 

“Yeah, I do,” Alice told him. “He almost as to be, given that he’s also  _ sick _ enough that Fred feels compelled to stay by his side and care for him on a permanent basis,” she pointed out. “We don’t know what happened to him, I’m just saying, they might not be the most appropriate gift…” 

 

“Oh,” he mumbled. “What do you think is wrong?”

 

“I don’t know,” she said, and she slid off the table. “I’m just saying that, as sweet as your idea is, things might be...happening that make it  _ inappropriate _ to gift him those.” She sighed. “Also? You  _ stole _ three  _ cartons  _ of cigarettes?! From where?”

 

“That’s for me to know, and you to find out,” he said, a teasing tone in his voice. “But, Al? No one notices you doin’ shady shit in that jacket.” 

 

“Really?” Alice asked, her blue eyes sparkling, and she leaned up to press a kiss against his cheek. “Well, no  _ wonder _ you prefer to play the role of the Northsider,” she purred. “You never mentioned that perk to me at all, Jonesy. How disappointing.” 

 

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “I should have told you, Allie.”

 

“It’s okay,” she said. “I know  _ just _ how you can make it up to me.” 

 

“How is that?”

 

Alice grinned wickedly at him. “I  _ think _ you know.” 

 

“Yeah, I think I know, too,” he agreed, and he slipped off the table, having the sense to slip the pregnancy test in his back pocket (he really didn’t want his father to suddenly gain observational skills if he was to spot it, who knew what he’d do to Alice, or their baby? He didn’t want to risk it), before he took Alice in his arms. “Didn’t know you’d still want to,” he admitted. “Cos of the baby, an’ all.” Was mentioning the baby the right thing? Hell, he didn’t know. The whole concept was scary as fuck. “It’s okay to, right?” 

 

“Why wouldn’t it be?” She asked, before she pressed her lips to his. Fuck. He’d missed her. He’d missed this. “Nothing’s really changed,” she continued, before kissing him again. “Except we don’t need to use a condom anymore.” 

 

“Gotta pull out?” 

 

Alice giggled. “No, Jonesy, you get to come inside me,” she said. “You’ve already knocked me up. So, no, none of that stuff has to happen anymore.” 

 

“And it’s not gonna hurt the baby, is it?” FP had slept through the sex ed courses that poor Mr. Weatherbee had taught at the high school the previous year, not that the Bee had known anything about sex at all, given his patent refusal to answer his questions, or Fred’s. “Cos, Allie, you’re damn hot, but I really don’t want to do anything bad to the kid.”

 

“It’s okay,” she whispered in his ear, her tone sultry. “The baby will be fine. Probably won’t even notice what we’re up to. It’s not very big right now.” 

 

“Oh, okay, babe.” FP vaguely remembered that they were supposed to be going to Fred’s, so Alice could eat, and they could figure out what the fuck was wrong with his dad, but he supposed that Mr. A could wait, and that it was clear that Alice was hungry for him, rather than food. “Just promise me that if you have to stop, we will?” Her hands were on his belt buckle, and she made fast work of sliding down his jeans. He unzipped her jeans, though he fumbled slightly with his broken wrist. “Can you undo your flannel? We’ll be here all day if I try. I’m sorry, I’m lame.”

 

“Oh, Jonesy,” she breathed, and she took his casted arm in hers, and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. “You’re not lame. I think you’re really sexy, with your cast, and everything.” He watched, satisfied with the unexpected show, as she nibbled her lower lip, and slowly unbuttoned her top, revealing the black bra she had on underneath. He licked his lips at the sight. “Like what you see? You can touch, if you want.” She undid the clasp of her bra. 

 

“Babe, you don’t have to ask,” he said, cupping her breasts carefully, gently tweaking her nipples. “Uh, Al, are these bigger than last time?” He really didn’t want to piss her off. But her boobs  _ did _ look like they were bigger than the time they’d fucked in the locker room. 

 

“Uh-huh,” she breathed. “Gonna get bigger. They’re really  _ fucking _ sensitive.” Alice’s nipples were pebbled to the touch, and (though it was a blow to his manly ego that he was not the sole cause), he thought it was fucking hot how turned on she was. He pressed a trail of kisses down her body, making sure to lavish her breasts with his tongue. He was only egged on by the noises of pleasure that she was making. He continued his ministrations down her body, taking care to press a tender kiss to her navel. 

 

Whatever. Sue him. He was saying hi to the kid. It was only right given what they were going to do. 

 

He slid down the offending piece of fabric that was keeping him from experiencing Alice fully, taking care not to rip it. He wanted to, but he knew that would only piss Alice off. 

 

“What do you feel like, baby?” He murmured, his tone low, as he drank her in with his eyes. “Want me to eat you out?”

 

She quickly shook her head. “We have to get ready and go to Fred’s,” she panted. “Just fuck me. I’m close.” She tugged down his boxers, which revealed how hard he was, and he only grew harder when she pinned him against the kitchen table. “And, Jonesy? I’m going to be on top.” 

 

“Course, babe. Whatever you want.” It was such a turn on when Alice took control, which she was expertly doing, her nails digging into his back as she rode him -- hard -- until he felt her orgasm, followed (quickly) by his. “I love you, you know?” He whispered into her hair, wrapping his arms around her. “I’m sorry I’ve sucked, lately, but I do love you.” 

 

“I know, Jonesy.” She laid her head on his chest. “I love you, too.” He ran his fingers through her hair. “We really need to go check on Mr. Andrews,” she said, sighing. “It’s the right thing to do.” 

 

“Yeah, I know,” he murmured. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Maybe we could stop by Pop’s, uh, and get him a milkshake, or something. That might cheer the old man up. Got some dough,” he added. “Could get you and me something to eat, too, if you want?”

 

“Yeah, I would like that,” she said breezily, and she stepped away from him. He watched as she slipped her panties back on, followed by her jeans, still trying to catch his breath. “Come on, Jonesy,” she commanded. “Get dressed. I want my onion rings.” She peered at him with interest. “How do you have money?” 

 

“I can’t help it if Hiram  _ happened  _ to lose his money clip while Fred and I were streaking the other day,” he said, and he tugged on his boxers and jeans, wordlessly allowing Alice to button them, and fix his belt. It felt a bit juvenile, but, well, Alice was hot, and he was willing to debase himself for her. “I saw an opportunity, babe, and, well, I took it.” 

 

“Oh, poor Hiram,” she drawled, and she ran her fingers through his hair, smoothing down his t-shirt. “What a shame that he was distracted by the two of you.” 

 

“What do you say, babe? We could get a full meal.”

 

“I am hungry,” she said. “Yeah, alright.” Alice kissed him, before looking around the room, her brow furrowed. “Uh, Jonesy? Where did that test go?”

 

“Don’t worry, babe,” he said. “I got you.” He brandished the used test in her direction. “Figured we didn’t want to leave it behind.”

 

“It’s not that I don’t want our parents knowing,” she said, and FP admired her commitment to lying. “It’s just that, I want to see how the baby is doing. Make sure that everything is okay? Not that I think that there’s anything wrong, I mean, I’m nauseated as all hell, and even you’ve noticed my boobs getting bigger. I just want to be sure before it becomes a big deal. You know they’re not going to be happy with us, Jonesy.” 

 

“Fuck them,” he said. “You’re my family, now. You, me, and this little gumdrop inside of you.” He pressed a hand to her abdomen. “They can go screw if they want to tear us apart.” 

 

“Is that what you want to call the baby?” Alice asked, and he watched as she tucked her hair behind her ear, a fond expression on her face. “Gumdrop? If you do, I think it’s cute,” she offered, and she covered his hand with hers. FP had been about to pull his hand away, but, with Alice cuddling up against him, he decided that it was totally not reputation ruining if he dared to show feelings other than anger. “Little Gumdrop Jones,” she said. “As a nickname, of course.”

 

“Jones?” He questioned. “Not Smith?”

 

“Yeah, the kid’s a Jones,” she murmured. “I don’t want him or her to have to wonder who their dad was, or why they weren’t good enough to have one, like I had to. You won’t like that happen, will you, Jonesy?”

 

FP tugged her closer. “I promise you, that won’t happen, Allie,” he said, never feeling more sure of anything in his life. “I told you -- I’m in -- and I meant it. I’m all in. For you, for the little one on the way, forever, or as long as you’ll have me.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “But, for now, why don’t we leave this shitbox trailer, in this shitbox trailer park, and go get a bite to eat before we visit Mr. A. The baby must be hungry.”

 

“Is it the baby that’s hungry?” She queried. “Or is it his or her father?” She quirked a grin at him. “I guess it could be both.”

 

FP wrapped his arms around Alice, and he scooped her up into his arms. “Taking after the old man already, eh?” He pressed his lips against her abdomen. “I got you, kiddo. Whatever you are. Daddy’s got you.” 

 

He carried her carefully out of the trailer and down the stairs, and he peppered her belly with kisses as they went. There was something exciting about the baby. Sure, they were young, but he thought that having a chance to prove to the world, to Alice, to the baby, that he wasn’t his father, that he was going to do whatever it took to be a good father by little Gumdrop, and a good partner by Alice. Maybe they’d even get married someday. 

 

“What’re you thinking about, Jonesy?” She questioned, as he tightened his hold on her. “Good things, I hope?”

 

“You said the baby would be a Jones, right?” He brushed her hair carefully as he waited for her response. 

 

“Yeah, of course,” she said. “That’s okay, right?”   
  


He grinned at her. “Yeah, more than okay,” he promised. “I can’t wait. I was just thinkin’... you wanna be a Jones someday?”

 

“Are you asking me to marry you?” 

 

Her tone wasn’t filled with derision, and, so, FP decided, what the hell. Proposing on the bridge that spanned the North and South sides of Riverdale was a bit unorthodox, and he didn’t have a ring for her yet, but what the hell did that matter? There was nothing traditional about them. He gently placed her on the sidewalk, and made sure that she was safe where she was standing, before he dropped down on one knee, to pop the question. 

 

“Alice Susanna Smith? Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

 

“Yes, Jonesy, yes,” she insisted. “Yes, I’ll marry you. Come here, let me give you a kiss.” Their lips met in a searing kiss. “I love you, Jonesy.” 

 

“I love you too,” he murmured. “Thank you for agreeing to become my wife.”

  
  


***

  
  


“Isn’t that them?” Alice asked when they finally arrived at Pop’s, her vantage point much higher than normal, as she had convinced FP to give her a piggyback ride the rest of the way to the diner. “The Andrewses,” she added. “Look over there.” 

 

The Andrews family was definitely inside of their station wagon, she observed, and what appeared to be Hermione was in the backseat, wedged in between Fred and, of all the people, Oscar Andrews. Alice hadn’t seen or heard anything of Archie’s older brother since he’d moved off to Chicago to go to college and decided he prefered living in Illinois to Riverdale. 

 

“Fuck,” she heard FP say, clearly having noticed the presence of the long-gone Oscar. “What the fuck is going on?”

 

“I don’t know,” she reminded him. “I’ve been with you all day, remember?”

 

“I know, Al, I meant...just fuck, you know? If Oscar is back here, it can’t be good.” 

 

“But we’re at Pop’s,” she pointed out. “He must be doing better if he’s well enough to come here.” 

 

“Or he’s fucking faking it for Oscar and Hermione,” FP pointed out. Truthfully, that was Alice’s suspicion, but she didn’t want to say so out loud. “Shit, I would probably fake it too.” 

 

“Come on,” she said, pressing a kiss to the side of his neck. “Put me down and we’ll go over and say hello.” 

 

“Do I  _ have _ to put you down?” He mumbled, though he did as she’d requested. “You think we  _ should _ say hello?’

 

“Forsythe,” she said, her tone patient. “We can’t ignore Fred and his family. This would be very rude.” He sighed. “Come on. Fred and Hermione probably think we killed each other.”   
  


“Why would they think that?”

 

“Because of the little bombshell that dropped during that game,” she pointed out. 

 

“Oh,” he said. “Al, you know I wouldn’t do that,” he insisted. “I love you, and the snake kitten.”

 

“I don’t think baby snakes are called kittens,” she said, trying to be gentle. “And, I know you do, I just think that they might appreciate the assurance.” She pecked a kiss on his cheek. “It’s alright,” she assured him. “I promise, we just have to say hello. And, if things are awkward, we can just sit alone, okay?”   
  


“What are they called then?” He asked. “Puppies?” 

 

Alice giggled. “I don’t know,” she said. “I’ll look it up later.” She looped her arm through his, and started heading in the direction of the station wagon. If she had to pull FP there by the broken arm, she would. Avoiding his best friend’s father (who was terribly ill!) was not allowed. Even Alice, with her low-class, Southside, pedigree, knew better. Especially, given that Fred himself had  _ told _ all of them that his father was sick. Sure, they had been playing a game, but he could have lied. She wouldn’t have blamed him if he had. 

 

“What are you two doing here?” A familiar voice asked, and Alice glanced over to meet Hermione’s gaze. 

 

“Getting Pop’s,” FP said, a scowl on his face. “Is that not allow--”

 

“We were on our way into the restaurant,” Alice said, having silenced FP with a well placed heeled boot, “and we noticed that you had all showed up, we thought that we should come over and say hello.”

 

“Thank God,” the Latina breathed. “You have to sit with us,” she continued. “I can’t take it anymore.”

 

“Take what anymore?” Alice asked, her tone bored. “What is so taxing on you that you are finding it impossible to handle? Isn’t that what Catholics do, Hermione? Martyr about?”

 

“Something is obviously wrong with Mr. Andrews,” Hermione whispered, invading Alice’s personal space in the process, but the blonde decided to be merciful and let it slide. “I don’t know what it is, but it’s bad.”

 

“And?”

 

“And Fred here,” she said. “Dragged me over to his house and pretended that he didn’t realize that his brother was coming into town, and conned his mother and father into paying for me to have dinner with them. Now he’s over there trying to convince them to have the  _ whole _ band join us.” 

 

“Fuck that,” FP said, a scowl on his face. “I spent enough time with Sierra at our detention today. I don’t want to see her suck Keller off.” Alice smirked at the expression Hermione wore after she processed FP’s words. “He can put up or shut up with me and Alice,” he continued. “Want a smoke, Herms?” 

 

Alice scowled at him, and she glared at the pack of cigarettes that were in his hand until he put them away. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, FP,” she whispered. “Remember the fight? I don’t want us to get banned from Pops.” 

 

“Oh, alright,” he sighed. “Guess you’re right, Allie.” He hooked his arm around her waist. “Come on. Let’s go make ol’ Freddie’s head spin.” 

 

“FP!” She chastised. “We’re in public!”

 

“So?” He smirked. “Never bothered you before.” 

 

“We are potentially having dinner with his parents, FP,” she snapped. “This is not the time to act like an idiot. This is the time to prove to me, and to everyone else, that you are capable of being some sort of adult.” FP slouched, and Alice wondered if she was being too harsh on him. “FP, I’m sorry…” 

 

“No, Al,” he said softly. “You’re right.” 


	3. don't pull me down, this is where i belong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Freddie tells us that you’re volunteering together the next four Saturdays,” Alice vaguely processed Mrs. Andrews commenting, and she took a break from nursing her orange freeze to stare at the woman, before redirecting her gaze toward Fred, who was wedged into the corner of the booth, next to his brother. “I think that it’s wonderful that you’re all getting together to provide for the less fortunate.”
> 
> “Right,” Alice drawled. Her nausea had been replaced by insatiable hunger, but that didn’t mean that she was in the mood for dealing with whatever bullshit that Fred had told his parents, in an attempt to get out of trouble. The looks that Oscar kept giving her and FP were unsubtle, and were about to send her across the table to plant her fist into his thick skull, and it was only her desire to not cause Mr. Andrews to have another episode that was encouraging proper behavior.
> 
> So. She decided to play along. Whatever. Who did it hurt? “Hermione wanted us to help with her church,” she purred, the smile on her look one of pure sweetness. “So, we thought about it, and said, what is stopping us from getting together for four Saturdays in a row? It would be nice.”

“What brought this change of heart on?” Alice demanded, her tone hushed, but her words pointed. “Suddenly you’ve just decided to behave yourself? That is so unlike you it isn’t funny, FP.” 

 

“Look over there,” he directed, his tone low. “At their car. Try to act discreet.” 

 

Alice Smith craned her head in the direction of the Andrewses station wagon, before FP bodily spun her in the direction he wanted her to look at, the fast action making her stomach churn. She pressed a hand against her side, and her lips pursed, and she prayed the moment of nausea would pass. She didn’t want to have Mr. and Mrs. Andrews to have them memory of her upchucking all over FP (who Alice thought would definitely deserve it) and Hermione (who she would have felt guilty about vomiting all over) burned into their memories. It wasn’t one she thought would be particularly comforting to them. 

 

She watched as Oscar scrambled out of the car, her eyes observing as he went to the front passenger’s side of the station wagon, and opened the door, revealing one Artie Andrews, who appeared to have lost a good twenty pounds since the time he had flipped on her and FP for smoking those cigarettes. She cringed. 

 

“What happened to him?” She hissed. “My God, FP.”

 

“You can see why I think Fred is in denial, right?” Hermione chimed in. “I mean,  _ look _ at him.” 

 

“Fred...actually doesn’t see that?” Alice questioned. She tried to keep the shaking out of her tone, lest the threesome draw attention to themselves, but she didn’t think she was entirely successful. “How is that even possible? He looks…”

 

“He looks like shit,” FP supplied. “What? That was what you were gonna say, wasn’t it?”   
  


“I was going to say that he looks gaunt,” she corrected, as she rolled her eyes heavenward. “But, I suppose, that your description is also accurate.” She sighed. “Was that what you wanted to show us?”

 

“No,” he said. “Just noticed that Mrs. A was the one driving,” he clarified. “Didn’t see what his old man looked like until now. Fuck. Sorry, Hermione.”

 

“It’s okay,” she said. “I just...we got there and he just...Mr. Andrews is so obviously sick, and Fred just…I don’t know if it was an act for my benefit or if he just thinks that denial is the good, reasonable, way to do these things…either way, I just can’t subject to myself being the  _ only  _ person there that he’s putting this act on with,” she concluded. “You  _ have _ to sit with us. Please don’t make me go over there alone.”

 

“Oh, alright,” Alice said, and she sighed. “I suppose we can deign to join all of you. It would be rude not to,” she allowed. “Come along, FP.” 

 

Without waiting for a response, she tugged her newly-minted fiance along beside her, her fingers firmly hooked around his wrist. Hermione trailed behind them, and, while Alice contemplated giving her the same treatment that she was giving FP, she decided to be merciful. Hermione had had to deal with Fred’s...Fredness alone, while herself and FP had been, well, bonding over the baby. Perhaps the reason that she was less high strung than normal was because she had released her sexual tension? Who knew? Certainly not Alice. But, whatever had caused her act of mercy was something that Hermione Gomez needed to seek out and thank profusely. 

 

Alice’s read on the situation in front of her did not improve as she and FP approached the station wagon. Mr. Andrews’ physical distress was clear to the flannel and letterman jacket clad girl from entirely too far away for her to remotely be comfortable with discounting it -- he was clad in normal, everyday, clothes, she supposed, though the slacks and the sweater hung off of him and were...entirely too winter appropriate for the spring-temperate May day that was occurring, and they were about four sizes too big (maybe he was trying to be fashionable, her inner Fred suggested, and Alice inwardly scowled) -- but his general pallor left a great deal to be desired. Her gaze moved to the fact that Oscar was physically supporting him as he leaned against the frame of the car, before she looked over at Mrs. Andrews. The older woman looked as if she had aged ten years overnight. Alice glanced over at Fred, who bore a look of happiness that was so blatantly fake Alice almost burst out in hysterical laughter in the middle of the parking lot. She sighed, and she planted on a look of polite surprise, as if her and FP’s presences in front of Fred’s family hadn’t been orchestrated by Hermione Gomez, but, rather, as if they had just  _ happened _ to come upon the family, out in the wild. 

 

Like they were blueberry eating black bears out on a country road, she decided. 

 

Except that the blueberries that Mr. A was about to eat was the pavement, and that was  _ absolutely _ unacceptable. 

 

“What are you doing?” Alice demanded, as she watched Artie Andrews let go of his death grip on the car door to offer them a wave. “Oh my God.” The older man had gone from being ruddy-faced (though less so than when he was hearty and hale) to resembling the color of liquid paper in a matter of what felt like seconds, and not one of his companions had seemed to notice. 

 

Alice, on the other hand, had noticed, and was not about to watch someone that she had known since she was  _ five _ years old faceplant on to the parking lot at the local diner, regardless of the nausea that she still felt in the pit of her stomach, and regardless of the fact that she  _ really _ didn’t run in the boots that she had worn that day. Maybe it was adrenaline, maybe it was her maternal instincts rearing their ugly head  _ way _ before they were needed, and on someone that was the wrong age bracket, whatever the reason, she didn’t know. What she  _ did _ know was that one second she was beside FP, arms entwined, and the next thing she knew, she was standing behind Artie Andrews, and not a moment too soon. 

 

“Mr. Andrews,” Alice said firmly, unable to believe she was daring to speak to a Northsider adult like was speaking to one of the little brats that terrorized the residents of her trailer park, but, someone had to address the fact that the man appeared to be seconds away from passing out. “I really think that you need to sit down.” 

 

“Allie Smith,” he replied, and she assumed the pained grimace he sported and the glassy expression in his eyes were due to his illness and not something to take personally. “Don’t be...I’m fine. I didn’t know you had a twin?”   
  


“What?” She demanded. “What are you talking about?” 

 

“There’s you,” he said, and he patted her on the shoulder of FP’s coat. “And then there’s her. Either there’s two of you, or I’m seein’  _ double  _ or somethin’.”   
  


“I think you’re--” Alice’s eyes widened. “Mr. Andrews?!” 

 

“Arthur!” Mrs. Andrews exclaimed, her hand flying to her mouth. “Are you alright?”   
  


Mr. Andrews didn’t respond to either the blonde or the redhead, at least, not with words. He crumpled to the ground in what appeared to be slow motion, and, with a degree of speed that Alice did  _ not  _ know she possessed, she managed to catch him before he smacked face first into the curb. 

 

“Al? Mrs. A.? What the fuck?” She heard FP’s voice in the back of her mind, and she forced herself to tear her gaze away from their friend’s father, who was currently a semi-conscious deadweight in her arms. “Mr. A?”

 

“He was talking to me, and he just collapsed,” she said, her voice dull, as if she wasn’t stating the obvious. “I don’t know what to do.” 

 

Marjorie Andrews still stood in front of the driver’s side door, openly weeping. Alice decided she was going to be utterly useless when it came to helping the situation. She wasn’t being cruel, but, rather, pragmatic. 

 

“What happened?” A voice Alice hadn’t heard in years asked, and she shook her head. “Alice, what happened to him?”   
  


“I don’t know,” she repeated. “We were just  _ talking _ and the next thing I knew…”

 

Oscar Andrews squatted down beside her -- well, beside them, Alice supposed -- and Artie feebly stirred. “You think you could help me carry him into Pop’s?”

 

“No,” she heard Fred’s voice say, breaking through the throng of people that had gathered. “She can’t, Oscar.”

 

“Here.” Hermione came forward, holding a vial of perfume in her hands, the cap off. “Wave it under his nose, see if he wakes up.” 

 

“Why the hell can’t she?” Oscar demanded. “It’s not that far, Fred. He doesn’t weigh  _ that _ much.” 

 

“Because she  _ can’t  _ carry him,” FP interjected, his tone rough. “Fuck, Oscar, I’ll carry him in myself if it makes a difference, I just know that Alice can’t do that shit.”

 

The perfume worked -- Alice’s stomach rolled, but Mr. Andrews stirred and slowly opened his eyes -- and she exhaled slowly.

 

“Dad,” Oscar said. “FP Jones and I are going to get you into the restaurant, where we’re going to ask Pop to call for an ambulance, alright?”

 

“No,” he said. “We’re here to eat.” 

 

“You  _ literally _ just passed out,” she felt the need to remind him. “Into my arms, Mr. Andrews. We  _ all _ saw you.” 

 

“I just haven’t eaten yet today,” he told them. “Got me a little lightheaded, that’s all.” 

 

Alice found the claims that not eating was the cause of her newfound level of intimacy with Mr. Andrews to be rather suspect. After all, she and FP had periods of time where neither had much food, and you didn’t see them collapsing bridal style on to each other. It was obvious, however, that Mrs. Andrews and Oscar seemed to buy this as a good, solid, excuse for why Artie had collapsed. Fred just seemed interested in the cracks on the concrete. 

 

“Plus,” he said. “I haven’t seen all the kids in awhile. What type of host would I be to not treat them to a meal?”

 

“Alright, Dad,” he said. “Come on. Let’s get you inside.” 

 

“Freddie tells us that you’re volunteering together the next four Saturdays,” Alice vaguely processed Mrs. Andrews commenting, and she took a break from nursing her orange freeze to stare at the woman, before redirecting her gaze toward Fred, who was wedged into the corner of the booth, next to his brother. “I think that it’s wonderful that you’re all getting together to provide for the less fortunate.” 

 

“Right,” Alice drawled. Her nausea had been replaced by insatiable hunger, but that didn’t mean that she was in the mood for dealing with whatever bullshit that Fred had told his parents, in an attempt to get out of trouble. The looks that Oscar kept giving her and FP were unsubtle, and were about to send her across the table to plant her fist into his thick skull, and it was only her desire to not cause Mr. Andrews to have another episode that was encouraging proper behavior. 

 

So. She decided to play along. Whatever. Who did it hurt? “Hermione wanted us to help with her church,” she purred, the smile on her look one of pure sweetness. “So, we thought about it, and said, what is stopping us from getting together for four Saturdays in a row? It would be nice.”

 

“They let people like you and Jones in that church?” Oscar muttered, his gaze suspicious. 

 

“No, it’s going to burst into flames when we darken the doors,” she snapped. “What are you implying, Oscar? Because we live on the Southside, we’re Godless heathens?”

 

“That’s not very nice, son,” Artie interjected. “FP and Allie are Fred’s friends. Allie here just saved my life.”   
  


“I would have done it for anyone, Mr. Andrews,” she said, her tone low. “There’s nothing stopping Fred from befriending people like Hal Cooper, Oscar, except that he manages to have taste.” She picked at the club sandwich that she had ordered at the Andrewses request. She knew that she needed to eat, for the sake of the baby, even though being around Oscar ruined her appetite in a major way. “Thank you for the dinner,” she added. 

 

“You’re welcome,” Mrs. Andrews said. “It’s been awhile since we’ve seen you kids,” she commented. “Artie was thinking he’d never see you all again.” 

 

“He would have seen us,” FP muttered, while Alice concentrated on her pile of french fries, her eyes filling with tears that she never wanted the others to see. “We’ll come by every day, if you want, old man,” he offered. 

 

“Right,” she said. “Of course we will.”

 

“They’re busy, Dad,” Fred interjected. “I’m sure they have --”   
  


“I said we were going to, Fred,” she interrupted. “FP wouldn’t have offered us to if he didn’t mean it.” 

 

Alice stabbed a fry with more force than needed. 

 

Even in that stupid letterman jacket she  _ still  _ wasn’t good enough for people like Oscar Andrews. And it  _ hurt _ her so much. More than she wanted to admit it. She didn’t want the baby hating her and FP for being from the Southside. Not that she thought that the baby would  _ ever _ be able to hate FP. How many times had he screwed up and she’d still fallen for his charming grin and brown eyes? She just hoped that he stuck around. Sure, they were engaged, but she wasn’t stupid. He was a BMOC, and she was a nobody. 

 

“See, Mom?” Oscar said. “You don’t need me in town, you have Fred’s little ragamuffin pals here to help you with Dad. I’m surprised you don’t just move them in, since you seem to think that they are such good people.” 

 

“Son, you can go back to Chicago, if you need to work,” Mr. Andrews said, his tone slightly more robust than it had been prior to their meal. Maybe he’d been right about needing food. “I told you you didn’t need to come.”   
  


“And I told him that he did need to come, Arthur,” Mrs. Andrews interjected. “He hasn’t been home since he went away to college. He needs to be here. For when--”   
  


“Nothing is going to happen,” he said, his tone firm. “Stop thinking the worst. You’re going to scare the kids.” 

 

“Artie!”

 

Alice glanced over at FP and Hermione. Hermione looked even more uncomfortable than she felt, and seemed oblivious to FP’s decision to slowly start eating her dinner in addition to his, despite the fast work that he was making of both. This was absolutely painful. 

 

“How is Chicago?” She forced herself to ask, mainly for the sake of trying to divert the parents’ fight before it got into levels that would bother FP. If Oscar didn’t like the two of them as it was, he certainly wouldn’t like it if FP was triggered into a fit of rage because of shouting voices. “Get what you were looking for, there?” 

 

“Got the hell out of here,” he said, and shrugged his shoulders. “Something that you won’t experience, I’m sure.” 

 

“Fuck off about Alice, okay?” FP interjected. “You have no idea what she’s capable of. None. She doesn’t have to leave Riverdale to be great. You don’t have to leave Chicago to be a giant asshole.”

 

“It’s alright,” she whispered, though she didn’t object when he slipped his arm around her and squeezed closer to her in the booth. “Let’s not cause a scene,” she cautioned. “You’ve already got one broken arm, remember?” FP grunted, and shoved a handful of fries in his mouth. “We’re having a nice dinner, remember, for Mr. Andrews’ sake? Everyone can just...get along for one meal. And then, we can all go back to our lives.” 

 

“That sounds like a good idea,” Hermione agreed. “Thank you for inviting us out,” she added. 

 

“You always have it out for my friends!” Fred thundered. “I’m so tired of it.”

 

“Fred!” 

 

“Maybe if you hung out with people in our  _ class _ I wouldn’t have issues with it, Fred!” Oscar exclaimed. “These people were fine when you were kids, but, come on. You can’t seriously think these people are going to get you ahead in life?”

 

“They’re my friends, Oscar!” He retorted. “At least they’ve been here for me. Where the hell have you been? You don’t even care that Dad’s sick. You just got pissed because he and Mom asked you to take time off work to visit.” 

 

Beside her, FP stiffened, and Alice gave him a worried look, before she burrowed herself against his side, temporarily abandoning her sandwich to comfort the man that she loved. 

 

“Do you want to go home?” She whispered into his shirt, sure that her makeup had rubbed off on to it. “Because, we can, if you want. I won’t stop you.” 

 

“I’m fine,” he murmured. “You need to eat.”

 

“She didn’t even help carry Dad -- you made up some bullshit excuse for her!” 

 

“Now, son,” Mr. Andrews interjected. “Allie’s a young lady. I’m much too heavy for her to carry.”

 

“Managed to catch you, didn’t she?” 

 

“Was I supposed to let your father just  _ fall _ on the ground?” Alice demanded. She was exhausted. This was growing old. “I don’t know what your problem is with me,” she continued. “It’s not like Fred and I are dating, or ever will be. So you don’t have to worry about your Northsider cred taking a hit.”

 

“Why are you so sure that you won’t?” 

 

“For starters,” she said, taking a bite of her sandwich. “Frederick is dating Hermione. Which, you would know, if you ever bothered to talk to, or visit, your brother.” She took a sip of her orange freeze. “FP and I? We’re engaged.” She smiled sweetly at Oscar. “So, that’s what makes me so sure that I won’t.” 

 

“Yeah, like that will last,” he scoffed. Alice scowled. “You two are juniors in high school. You aren’t going to go off and get married.”

 

“Why the hell not?” She demanded. 

 

“And, Fred, here, doesn’t actually want to date Hermione,” he continued. “God, I would rather he date you. At least your parents speak English.” 

 

“Shut the  _ fuck _ up!” 

 

It took Alice an embarrassingly long time to realize that the person who had uttered the words was Fred and not FP, and an even longer time to realize that Fred had climbed out of their booth and into the one behind them, solely to slug Oscar in the jaw. 

 

“Frederick!” Mrs. Andrews exclaimed. “What are you even doing?” 

 

“Apologize to Hermione,” he muttered. “Apologize to Hermione, or I’ll knock your block out.”

 

“Why the hell would I apologize for what I said? It’s not like it’s not true. Hermione is only a Northsider in the technical sense of the word.”

 

“I  _ warned _ you.” The sound of flesh hitting flesh was familiar to Alice, and she was surprised when a quick glance at FP only served to have him tug her closer to him, running his fingers through her hair. “Leave the girls the hell alone, or I’ll make you. You should have never come home.” 

 

“Fred!” Alice hissed, giving a slight, yet pointed, nod, in the direction of FP and Hermione, neither of whom looked entirely at ease to see their friend and boyfriend (respectively) pounding on his older brother. Alice thought this was positively unacceptable. “Can’t this wait until it’s  _ only _ the family?”   
  


“I have to go,” Hermione interjected. “I have to be home before my mother gets home from Saturday Mass.” 

 

“Before you go,” Mr. Andrews said. “We should congratulate FP and Alice on their engagement, shouldn’t we?” It was the most alert the man had looked the entire dinner (Alice was fairly certain that they were watching him fade in front of their eyes), and the look on his face (one of hopeful excitement), made the others still. Fred even released Oscar’s shirt from his grasp. 

 

“Only on the engagement?” Fred asked.

 

“Well, what else would we be congratulating them on, son?” Mrs. Andrews asked, clearly clinging to the topic as a reasonable, fun, distraction. “Surely they’re not married.”

 

“No…” Alice hedged. She gulped at the drink. “No, we’re not married.” She shot Fred a glare. “I have no idea at all what Fred is referring to.”

 

Oscar chuckled. “Jones has to marry her, I bet.” He smirked. “Probably knocked her up.” 

 

“Don’t talk about my  _ fiancee  _ like that!” FP snapped. “You fucking asshole. I’ll pound you one.”

 

“I dare you to,” Oscar fronted. “It’s not like it’s surprising, really, when you think of where the two of you came from, who your parents are.” 

 

“I don’t think we need to fight,” Alice interjected. “FP? Maybe we could just go home? I don’t feel very well.” It wasn’t even entirely a lie. The meal that she’d eaten had mostly settled, but she still felt like the chances she was going to make it through the evening without becoming sick were slim to none. “FP, please,” she repeated, her voice taking on a begging tone. “Please, just--”   
  


“Yeah,” he muttered. “I’ll take you home.” 

 

“Are you really pregnant, Alice?” Mrs. Andrews asked, her tone concerned. “Or is Oscar just extrapolating?”

 

“I have a headache,” she replied. “I must be allergic to Northside bigots.” She gripped FP’s hand tightly, probably tighter than one really should have gripped a broken limb, but Alice considered the potential for his discomfort to be less of an issue than what would happen if he took Oscar Andrews up on his offer to fight. She knew that the police would be there in minutes if he did, and she knew that he would be the one that got in trouble. “Come on, Hermione.” 

 

“What?” Hermione questioned. “Come on, Hermione, where?”   
  


“FP and I will drive you home,” Alice lied. She knew that if there was any inkling that the three teenagers were going to be walking around in ‘questionable areas’ (even though those were the places they lived!) Marjorie and Artie Andrews would have their heads. Worse, Alice thought to herself, they would probably be subjected to being driven home, while in the presence of Oscar, and she honestly wasn’t sure how much longer she could hold off FP. “Obviously, Fred and his family need to reconnect.” 

 

Fred shot her a desperate look. Alice was unmoved. She wasn’t going to sit there and listen to  _ Oscar Andrews _ of all people  _ castigate _ everyone that she cared about, including herself. Hermione and FP didn’t deserve the vitriol being spewed at them, either. 

 

“But, Al--”

  
“Don’t you  _ dare _ ‘but Al’ me, Fred,” she hissed. “I have more self respect than allowing myself to be the roast of the evening.”


	4. and i said, what about, breakfast at tiffanys?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Don’t be ridiculous,” she drawled. “As if your child will let something as banal as my utter humiliation stop it from getting Pop’s.”

“Why the hell didn’t you let me defend you?” FP demanded, once they had managed to escape the diner, and Alice had dragged both him and Hermione outside. “Fuck, Alice, the things he was saying--”   
  


“You don’t think I didn’t want you to?” His fiancee asked, her tone broken. “What the hell good would it have done? If you laid a finger on him, or even looked at him the wrong way, the police would have been called, and we  _ all _ probably would have been arrested. You  _ know _ how they look down on us, FP. What good would you do for me and the baby in jail?”

 

“I should go back there and punch him out--”   
  


“Please, FP,” she said, a hitch to her tone, and he felt himself soften, as he often did around Alice Smith, usually when the alternative was some fun, exciting, form of physical violence. “Please, just take us home.” Her eyes had clouded with unshed tears, and he felt his anger simmer, before it dropped to a dull roar. “Please don’t--”   
  


“Hey, Al,” he said, and he looped his arm around her shoulders. “I won’t go back there. We don’t ever have to go back to Pop’s if you hate it that much.”

 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she drawled. “As if  _ your _ child will let something as banal as my utter humiliation stop it from getting Pop’s.”

 

“It...does stuff like that?”

 

“When it’s not making me feel like constant shit,” she informed him. “I think that’s normal,” she added. “I looked it up in the library.”

 

“I guess I didn’t realize that it was a little person already,” he admitted. “Well, maybe not a person yet, but like, it’s really making you crave things? And, Allie, I am so sorry that you don’t feel well,” he continued. “I really am sorry.”

 

“It’s alright,” she whispered softly. “Not your fault. I mean, it’s okay that I don’t feel well,” she told him. “I guess it means that the baby is growing okay, which is a good thing.” 

 

He inched his hand down to her midriff, and let his fingers brush against her bare skin. It was hard to believe that there was a baby inside of his Allie, but, he believed her when she said that there was. It wasn’t like she gained anything by lying about it. And her boobs. Her boobs had been so  _ huge _ earlier that day, in his trailer. Plus, now that he thought about it, he had noticed that she had been spending a lot of time in the bathroom, especially after he and Fred did things of a ...questionable humor. 

 

“...what do you think the baby’s like?” He asked.

 

“I don’t know yet, really,” she replied, her small hand covering his. “I hope that it’s like you, though.” 

 

“Really?” He asked, and he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Cos, babe, I was thinking, I hope that it’s like you. I think you’re awesome.”

 

“I think  _ you’re _ awesome,” she told him, a giggle leaving her lips. “You know that I love you, right, Jonesy?”

 

“Yeah, I know,” he whispered. “I love you too.”

 

“Even though  _ this _ means you have to give up being a Northsider?” Alice questioned. He nodded slowly. No matter how much he wanted to get out of the Southside, no matter how much he wanted to leave this fucked up town and never look back, none of those feelings mattered when it came down to the tiny, little, details. Fact was, Alice was pregnant, it was FP’s baby, and, even if it  _ wasn’t _ FP’s baby (which it was), he wasn’t going to ditch the two of them on the side of the road because he was ashamed of who he was. What they were.

 

He wasn’t going to be his father, okay? He was better than that, even if it wasn’t by much. 

 

“You know that you and the baby are more important to me than getting ahead like that, right?” 

 

“Still,” she said. Her fingers curled around the fabric of his shirt. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

 

“Al,” he insisted. “Whatever you didn’t mean to happen, wasn’t just you, yeah? You’re not the only one that was involved in knocking you up, okay? This is on both of us, and I don’t want you to think that I’m blaming you for the baby or whatever, because I’m not.” FP let out a sigh. “I swear to you, nothing you say will change my mind about this. You’re having a baby. Our baby, but it wouldn’t matter to me if you were having your baby and you wanted me to play at dad or whatever. I want to be there for you and the baby, okay? No matter what it takes.”

 

“I don’t want to end up like my mom,” she whispered, her voice almost too soft for him to hear clearly. “I really, really, don’t.”

 

“You’re not gonna end up like your mom,” he promised. “I would never abandon you and the kid, and you will never be like her. I swear to you.”

 

“I can just turn off here…” Hermione interjected, and he shook his head. “What? You don’t have to walk--”   
  


“It’s getting dark,” he pointed out. “I don’t want you walking home alone,” he said. “It’s not safe.”

 

“Are you sure the two of you don’t prefer being alone?” She asked. 

 

Hermione had always been more of Fred’s friend than FP’s, but he would be damned if one of the girls that he considered his friends was going to walk home alone at all, let alone if they were someone who lived on the border where the Southside and Northside met. Not that Hermione’s parents were Serpents -- Senior certainly wouldn’t have allowed that sort of people to join the ranks (in spite of the fact that the Serpents were a direct result of the Uktena and...well, he thought his idiot of a father was a giant hypocrite) -- which, though he was sure it had adhered nicely with the Gomezes’ principles, did not bode well for them being at all protected when the bullshit turf wars heated up. He really didn’t want Hermione caught in a crossfire or something. 

 

“It’s cool,” he said. “We’ll be alone at home,” he admitted. “Not like my dad’ll be around.”

 

“Or my mother,” Alice added. “It’s not safe.”

  
  



	5. does his best james dean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The kid’s gonna think I am,” he mumbled. “Not like I have a choice beside joining the Serpents.”

Mr. and Mrs. Gomez arrived home moments after Alice and FP had escorted Hermione to her front door, and, well, to say that Alice was relieved that they hadn’t been noticed, was an understatement. She felt like she had a scarlet letter on her chest. Oscar’s comments had almost sent her over the edge, she really didn’t feel like dealing with the judging eyes from either Hermione’s mother or father. The last thing she needed was FP causing a fight with a goddamned adult. 

 

“I want to go back to Pops and punch that bastard out,” FP muttered, from their position in the shadows. She glanced over at him. “I already know, Al, I’m not going to,” he mumbled. “Still. Can’t help but wanting to, you know.” 

 

“If we’re going to do this,” she said, after a moment. “We have to not fuck up. The baby is going to be counting on us. We’re its parents. We can’t be fighting and shit.”

 

“That’s rich, coming from you,” he said. “Fighting with Penelope Blossom, Al? You shouldn’t… you… I know she’s a bitch, Al, but what if it had hurt the baby?” 

 

She drew in a deep breath. “I don’t think that it hurt the baby,” she answered, as they started heading in the direction of the trailer park, of their home that they wished wasn’t their home, and she leaned against him, out of a combination of exhaustion and a desire to be closer to him. “I mean, nothing  _ happened _ after we fought.” She felt her cheeks redden. It was embarrassing to talk about these things with FP. He was the father of her child, yes, but he was a hot guy, and talking about pregnancy symptoms was a horrifying experience for her. She wasn’t used to the concept of admitting the baby on the way was a thing, and, she was so scared that if she said the wrong thing that he would freak out about the baby and leave, and then he would  _ know _ and she would be fucked. “The book in the school library said that if I...had a miscarriage, there would be blood and it would hurt,” she settled on. “I just feel like I’m going to ralph up all the time now,” she frowned. “I thought that morning sickness was something that happened in the mornings, but, like, it’s  _ all the time _ some days.” She sighed. “And, you know, my boobs.” 

 

“Sorry you don’t feel well,” he said. “Just...promise me that you won’t fight again? I’d rather fight for you.” 

 

“It’s not your fault,” she said, her tone blithe. “It’s the baby’s. The hormones. I guess it’s a good thing,” she added, and she shrugged. He slipped his arm around her shoulders. “I don’t know, really,” she continued. “All I know is that I’m  _ really fucking scared _ of what’s going to happen. What the fuck do I know about a kid?”

 

“You’re not the only one that’s scared,” he said. “I’m fucking terrified, Alice. You know what my life is like. What makes you think I know any more about the baby than you do? I just know that I want to do better than my dad, or my mom, by the kid. And I’ll probably fuck that up too.” 

 

“You knew about the clinic,” she mumbled, glancing at him for a moment before becoming rather interested in the pavement. “I mean, I know  _ why _ you knew about it, but, I mean…” 

 

“I’m still gonna fuck it up,” he said. “What kind of father will I be? I’m never going to amount to anything.” 

 

“Don’t say that,” she said. “You  _ will _ amount to something,” she whispered. “You can be the first Jones to go to college,” she continued. “Whatever it takes to get you to where you want to be, I will support you, Jonesy,” she insisted. “The baby and I, we will both support you. I would be  _ really _ proud of you if you went to college.” 

 

“What are we gonna do about money?” He questioned. “I don’t want you to work at the Wyrm anymore, I don’t  _ care _ how mad it will make your mom and my dad, please don’t work there anymore. I don’t trust people like Tall Boy around you. Or Senior, or Topaz. I know how they look at you -- they’d probably try to  _ violate _ you if they knew you were pregnant.” 

 

“Does it bother you that much? That I work there?” 

 

“Yeah, it bothers me,” he said. “I don’t care that you’re a Serpent. I used to be one too, Al, we got our fucking tattoos together, that shit doesn’t bother me. It bothers me that your mother  _ pimped you out _ to a biker bar because you  _ busted out _ early.” He sighed. “I don’t blame you, I know that you needed a job, I  _ get _ how your mother is. I just...I don’t want to be that  _ guy _ that tells you what you can and can’t do, Alice, but it’s a  _ bar _ and you’re pregnant and--”   
  


She pressed her lips to his, determined to stop his self loathing rambling. 

 

“If you really don’t want me working there,” she said. “I won’t. I’ll work at Pops, or something. You don’t have to damn yourself because Senior is an asshole. You’re nothing like him.” 

 

“The kid’s gonna think I am,” he mumbled. “Not like I have a choice beside joining the Serpents.” 

 

“Of course you do,” she said. “Why don’t you ask Mr. Andrews if you can work for the construction company? If only for the sake of Mrs. Andrews’s sanity,” she continued. 

 

FP was an unfortunate combination of stubborn and proud, Alice knew, and therefore, she was prepared to manipulate him into a return to sanity and reason, even if it was at the expense of other people’s pride. There was no need for Mr. Andrews to know that he had been used to manipulate FP, and, if he did find out? Oh well. Alice was still irritated by Oscar, and what he had said. The Andrewses owed her and FP, as far as she was concerned. They still had their eldest son, and he was still in one piece, and she and FP deserved to be rewarded. 

 

“What about you?” 

 

“I’m pregnant,” she hissed. “What possesses you to think I should be employed in construction?”

 

“No,” he insisted. “Doesn’t she work there? Organizing books or some shit? Sounds super lame but you could do that, couldn’t you? If Mr. A is really sick?”   
  


“She’s a bookkeeper,” Alice corrected, her irritation giving way to amusement. “I mean, I guess I could ask. Maybe she’d say yes.” 

 

They had reached his trailer, which was in the same status as it had been when they’d left earlier that day, and she let out a sigh. It was obvious that Senior was nowhere to be found, and probably wouldn’t be for several days. The man was unpredictable, however, and Alice really didn’t feel comfortable sleeping in a trailer he could possibly stumble into. She didn’t want to say goodbye to FP, though. Not over his deadbeat dad.

 

However.

 

There was another option.

 

Alice’s mother had left for the Serpent territory in Montreal that morning, and she had told her not to expect her back for some time. The last time her mother had pulled a stunt like that, Alice had been younger, and stupider, and she had told Fred and Hermione (they had all been friends then, after all, they’d been in third grade) that she had the house  _ all  _ to herself. Mrs. Andrews had found out and called Child Services, and, after a blissful month in Northsider foster care, she had been unceremoniously returned to her trailer, and mother. Alice’s mother had been irate by how stupid and indiscreet her daughter was,  and, well, that had been the end of the long trips. 

 

Except.

 

Alice was seventeen, now, and she was almost grown, and her mother had decided that seventeen was old enough to resume being openly neglectful, rather than just semi-neglectful. 

 

She wasn’t above using this for her benefit. 

 

Or for FP’s. The poor thing already had a broken arm.

 

“You want to spend the night?” Alice asked, feeling somewhat shy at the thought. “Mom fucked off to Montreal,” she elaborated. “You could even pack an overnight bag or something.” 

 

“Yeah, alright,” he said. “For the baby’s sake, right?”

 

“Definitely for the baby’s sake,” she insisted. “It should get used to having its dad around at night.” 

 

“I wouldn’t want you to be home alone, either,” he added.

 

She scowled. “I can take care of myself, Junior.” 

 

“I know you can, Allie,” he said. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.” He sighed. “Want to come in with me while I get my stuff?” 

 

“Yeah,” she told him. “Of course. I certainly don’t want to be hanging around out front. What would people think?”

 

“Fuck what they think,” he murmured, his lips meeting hers in a gentle kiss. “Let the assholes talk about how you’re my girl. Maybe they’ll learn their place then.” 

 

“It would be nice, wouldn’t it?” Alice sighed. 

 

“People here suck, Allie,” he said. “You’re better than all of us. Even me.” 

  
  


***

  
  


“What is he doing here?” FP demanded, and he forced Alice to a stop, and nodded in the direction of the person he was referring to. “Should he be  _ performing physical labor _ after what happened last night?”

  
Artie Andrews was hard at work at the construction site that Andrews and Son Construction was based at, actually performing construction work, despite the fact that he looked no better than he had the previous day at the diner, and, in fact, FP was willing to take a bet that the man looked  _ worse _ than when he’d become intimately acquainted with Alice’s arms in lieu of the ground. 

 

“See? This is why you need to ask for a job,” she said, her tone flat, and he watched her squint in the direction of the construction workers, before she slipped on the sunglasses he’d lifted from the pharmacy for her months ago on her face. “Everyone else is walking around the site shirtless, and he looks like he is about to go off hiking in the wilderness in the dead of winter.” 

 

“You’re wearing a flannel too, though,” he pointed out.

 

“I’m wearing a fashion statement,” she drawled. “I’m also not out moving slabs of concrete, in the middle of the day,” she sighed. “Where is Frederick?”

 

“Couldn’t tell you.”

 

FP was pretty sure that she was glaring at him underneath her lenses, and he gulped. He really didn’t want to trample all over the semi-decent mood that Alice had managed to start the day with, even though she had also started the day with having puked out her guts in her small bathroom, which he had tried unsuccessfully to comfort her through, only succeeding in convincing her that brushing her teeth and getting back into bed was a better solution than weeping over the toilet bowl. 

 

If he had noticed that she had curled up against him when they’d returned to bed? He definitely hadn’t bothered to acknowledge it while they were awake. Certainly not with words, or anything. Being allowed to stay at Alice’s house was acknowledgment enough for him. He didn’t need much more than that. 

 

“It was a rhetorical question,” she sighed. “I didn’t actually expect you to know.” 

 

“Come on,” he said. “We’ll go see if Mrs. A is there, in the office. And then we’ll see what I can do about getting a job.”

 

FP was too proud to ask Mr. Andrews for a job just for his own self-interests, but the combination of the man working when he  _ really _ shouldn’t have been, and the baby that Alice was carrying in her on the way, well, whatever. He would grovel for a job with the company if that’s what it took to make sure that Alice and their baby were taken care of from a fiscal standpoint, and if it meant that Mr. Andrews wasn’t going to be hauling concrete and other construction shit when he looked like he was about to keel over. FP was a jackass, and he had not a bit of love for the Northside, but Fred and his parents were different. He didn’t want them to have to suffer when he could suck it up and set aside his pride. Even if there wasn’t a baby on the way to consider. 

 

“That’s all I ask for,” Alice told him, and he watched as she buttoned up the flannel she’d thrown on that day, clearly intent on hiding her crop top. He  _ wanted _ to protest, but sensed that it would only set her off. 

 

“Someone here has to have a bit of sanity, and reason.” 

 

She sighed. 

 

“It is unfortunate that we are reduced as a society to it being you with the sanity and reason.”

  
  



	6. your life is meaningless, it's going nowhere, you're going nowhere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He slumped down in the chair across from her desk. “Alice’s...Alice...she’s pregnant. We’re pregnant. We’re so screwed.”

“Hey, Mrs. A.,” FP offered, putting on his best Northside airs, as he and Allie entered the office of the construction company, finding the older woman hard at work, doing who knew what with the paperwork in front of her. “You busy?”

 

Beside him, Alice rolled her eyes. “We wanted to apologize for what happened at Pop’s last night,” she said. “We shouldn’t have joined you, not with Oscar there. And I’m sorry that we ruined your dinner out.”

 

“What are you talking about?” Mrs. Andrews asked her. “Alice, I wanted to thank you in person, but Freddie seems to have completely lost your address. I don’t even want to think about what would have happened to Artie if you hadn’t been there to help break his fall. Freddie’s not here, though,” she said. “We suggested he take the day off. He seems a bit on edge as of late.”

 

“I would have done it for anyone,” she said. “Fred is my friend. I don’t like that his dad isn’t doing well.”

 

“Listen, Alice,” she said. “You’re a good kid. The both of you are. I don’t hold what happened with Forsythe against the two of you. I’ve missed seeing the two of you around. I don’t want you to take what Oscar said to heart, okay? He’s wrong about the two of you. Being from the wrong side of the tracks isn’t the be-all-end-all he thinks it is.” 

 

“Yeah, well, he’s not wrong,” Alice replied. “That’s nice of you to say, but, he’s not wrong.”

 

“What are you talking about, honey?”   
  


Alice gave him a desperate look, and he cleared his throat. “I screwed up, Mrs. A. Pretty badly this time.” He ran his broken hand through his hair. “It’s Allie. We’re engaged, but, it’s not because we  _ wanted _ to be. I mean. I love her. And I want to be with her, and being engaged is what we both want. But we  _ had  _ to get engaged. We’re gonna have to get married.” 

 

He slumped down in the chair across from her desk. “Alice’s...Alice...she’s pregnant. We’re pregnant. We’re so screwed.” 

 

“First of all,” Mrs. Andrews said, her tone soothing. “First of all, Alice, please sit down. I’m not going to kick you out of here. Sit down with FP.” He was pretty sure that Mrs. Andrews had meant in the chair beside him, not on his lap, but he didn’t have the heart to inform Alice of that when she sat down on him, her nails digging into her palms. “The two of you do not  _ have _ to get married. It’s 1992, not 1972.”   
  


“Maybe in your world,” Alice whispered. “Where people can eat and no one is a  _ bastard _ child and parents actually care about their children. Not in mine. I won’t have my baby hearing the same things that I have been hearing for every damn day that I’ve been old enough to understand.”   
  


“I wasn’t finished,” she said. “Did the two of you mean what you said about wanting to help with Artie? Why don’t you just stay with us? We have the room.” 

 

“Do you mean that, Mrs. A.?”   
  


“I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t,” she said. “You’re Freddie’s friends. It would be the least I could do, wouldn’t it? That trailer park isn’t safe for either of you, let alone a new baby.”

 

“You know we live at Sunnyside?” Alice questioned, her tone low. “Doesn’t that make us trash?”

 

“You can’t help where you live,” Mrs. Andrews told her. “Don’t you want to try to have the best life possible for the baby? And for yourselves?”   
  


“Well, yeah, but not at the expense of the kid,” he told her. “I would do anything for that kid. Even if it meant not being able to get out of the Southside, even if it meant rejoining the Serpents, even if it meant dropping out of school and getting a job to make sure that Allie and the baby had everything they needed. I’d do it, Mrs. A. In a heartbeat.” 

 

“I’m saying that you don’t have to,” she said. “If the two of you want, you can stay with us. I don’t think Freddie will mind. And I don’t...I’ll speak to Artie about it.”

 

FP wanted to protest -- if there was one thing that Senior had instilled in him, it was that he was never allowed to take charity from anyone -- but he had Allie and their  _ baby _ to consider and it wasn’t just him anymore. It was never going to be just him ever again. And he had promised Allie that he would do anything for her and for the kid, and he was already destined to be a shitty ass father, so the least he could do was not make things worse. And this was Freddie’s mom. It wasn’t like refusing would hide anything from her. She already knew about his pathetic excuse for a life. 

 

“Yeah, alright,” he mumbled. “It’s what’s best for Allie and the baby, so, I’m fine with it.”   
  


“I don’t want to have to give it away,” she whispered, and he reached out his arm so she could hold his hand, not saying a word as she crushed his broken hand with her death grip. “You wouldn’t make me, would you? You would go to the clinic with us and make sure that no one made me do things I didn’t want to do?”

 

“I’m not going to make you give up the baby, Alice,” she said, her eyes kind and her tone firm. “You two and that baby are welcomed to stay with us as long as you want, so long as you two keep going to school, and being the best parents that the two of you can be.” She sighed. “What’s this about a clinic?”   
  


“Guess you can get seen for free there,” Allie supplied. “Junior told me about it.” 

 

“Well, don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll get you settled with a practitioner, Alice. I’ll go with you, and you and FP can find out how the baby and you are doing, okay? What about your mother?”   
  


“Left me,” she said. “Went to Montreal. Don’t think she’ll be coming back. It’s not illegal anymore.” 

 

“And--”   
  


“You think I’m gonna tell Senior about the baby?” FP scoffed. “Look at what the asshole did to my arm when I said I wasn’t rejoining his damn gang, Mrs. A. You think I want my kid, or anyone’s kid, around that?” He shook his head. “He doesn’t know, and he doesn’t need to know. If he knew he’d probably hurt Allie. I can’t risk that. I can’t risk them.” 

  
  



	7. little boy blue and the man in the moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Okay, I guess,” he offered, and he shrugged his shoulders. “She’s had some morning sickness, but she says that’s normal.” For the sake of Fred’s parents, FP left out the bit about Allie’s awesome boobs, and about her increased sex drive. There were some things he felt that they didn’t need to know. “I just want to make sure that everything’s okay with her and the baby. That’s why we were going to go to the clinic.”

“What about Oscar?” Alice forced herself to ask, still unable to look Mrs. Andrews in the eyes, her gaze instead focused on the faded posters that were hanging on the walls behind her desk, advertising the various projects that Andrews Construction had done throughout the years. “I don’t want to make him angry at you, Mrs. A. He was really horrible to us yesterday, and to Hermione. Sure, she’s a bit of a dweeb, but she doesn’t deserve what he said to her.” 

 

“Oscar went back to Chicago,” she told her. “Apparently his father’s illness wasn’t enough to keep him around.” 

 

She didn’t know what to say. She wasn’t exactly sorry that Oscar had left, especially if Mrs. Andrews was going to force her and FP to come live with them, but, still, Mr. Andrews was sick, and she didn’t want to be the cause of his eldest child turning tail and running. 

 

“Is it my fault? Because of what I said yesterday?” Her tone was meek, and she wanted to make herself incredibly small, and hide, preferably where no one could find her, but she forced herself to be brave, and remain in her seat, or rather, on Junior’s lap. 

 

If FP could be brave enough to admit that they were in the situation that they were in, she could be brave enough to know whether or not she was responsible for Oscar leaving. Everyone left, and it was always her fault. At least, that was what her mother always said. It was Allie’s fault that her father had left before she was even born, and saddled her mother with her ungrateful child, and it was Alice’s fault all of Mom’s creepy boyfriends had left, and, now, it was going to likely be Alice’s fault that Oscar had left, even though she felt her statement had been justified. “If it is my fault, I’m really sorry.”

 

“Artie and I asked him to leave,” she said. “His behavior yesterday was appalling. I had no  _ idea _ that he thought those things.”

 

“He’s not the only one,” Junior interjected, and Allie glanced up at him. “What about your next door neighbors? They won’t be happy about us moving in there, you know that, right?” 

 

“I don’t care about what the Coopers think,” she informed them. “If they have an issue with you and Allie staying with us, they can take it up with me, or with Artie. I won’t have them taking it up with the two of you. You’re just children, this Northside and Southside divide is just so ridiculous. It’s one thing when it’s between adults, but, it should never have seeped down to affect the two of you. It’s just so insidious.” 

 

“I’ll do it,” she heard herself agree before she fully knew what she was doing, but, once she processed what she was saying, she really didn’t care to change her mind. “I’m tired of not having food in the house and I’m tired of tending bar at the Wyrm, and I’m tired of hoping that things will somehow -- magically -- get better for me when I get legal,” she said. “Mom’s obviously fucked off without a care about my well being, and I don’t like that Senior broke Junior’s arm because he doesn’t want to be in the gang. How am I supposed to know he won’t decide to hurt him even worse when he finds out that I’m pregnant? I don’t want that to happen, or for him to decide that hurting Junior isn’t good enough, and wanting to hurt me instead? I don’t want the baby to get hurt.”

 

“You really don’t think Mr. A will mind?” He asked, as she felt him wrap his arms around her, in order to hold her close. “I don’t want him to be mad at us for it.”

 

“I really don’t think that Artie will mind,” she said. “Why didn’t you ask him when you were outside? He’s supposed to be out their supervising.” 

 

“He was busy moving concrete,” she told her. “Which, I am highly doubtful, is what you had in mind when you told him he could supervise.” 

 

“He’s doing what? He shouldn’t be doing that.” 

 

Mrs. Andrews stood up from her desk, and practically bolted out of the trailer, as if she was on fire, which had the consequence of leaving her and FP in the trailer alone. 

 

“Can I ask you something?” Allie asked, her tone quiet, and she felt him rest his chin on her (enviable) hair. “Jonesy?” 

 

“You can ask me whatever you want,” he said. “Never stopped you before, not gonna stop you now.” 

 

“Is the reason that you wanted to go by FP and not Junior because you wanted to pretend you were a Northsider? Or is it because you don’t want people to associate you with your dad?” 

 

“I hate how people stare at me when they realize who Senior is,” he muttered. “I told everyone that it was because it was a Northside thing, but I just got so pissed off every time someone put two and two together and either looked at me with pity, or looked at me with revulsion. I don’t  _ want _ people to think I’m like my dad. I’m nothing like him. He’s a dick, and I want nothing to do with him. I especially don’t want people to hear my name and think that our kid is going to end up just as fucked as I am.” He sighed. “Can you promise me something? If the kid’s a boy? If  _ any _ of our kids are ever boys? Can you promise me that we won’t name him Forsythe? I don’t want the kid to ever feel like me, like his name means shit.” 

 

“Yeah, I promise.” It was easy to promise. She didn’t want to do anything that would upset him. Not over a name he hated. “I’m sorry that I kept calling you Junior. I should have asked you why.” 

 

“It’s okay, Al. You’re different. You can call me whatever the hell you want, I don’t care, because you’re my girl, and you’re having our child. I don’t expect you to call me FP, if you really hate it.” 

 

She took his hand in hers, and she brought it to her mouth, and pressed a kiss on his bruised knuckles. “I think that FP is a distinguished name,” she told him. “I think it’s a good name for a dad-to-be.” 

 

“You--you do?”   
  


She nodded. “Yeah, I mean, Junior? You sound like a kid. You’re not, anymore.” 

 

“You think that the kid will like me?” FP asked, his tone equal parts desperate and curious. “I think that would be nice, if he did, you know. Or she. It might be a girl. Right?”

 

“I think right now it’s just a blob,” she told him. “But, yes, I think that he or she will like you.”

 

FP was sweet, and he clearly did care for her and the baby, even if he didn’t have the easiest time showing it. She thought it was endearing. 

 

“What about you, Allie?” 

 

“I like you, too,” she said. “A hell of a lot.” 

  
  


***

  
  


“I don’t understand what you were thinking, Arthur Andrews!” FP heard Mrs. Andrews say, her tone rather strident, as she came back up the steps to the trailer, clearly in the middle of lecturing Mr. Andrews. “Why did you tell Freddie that he could stay home? You know that you’re not supposed to be working like that! What if the kids hadn’t seen you?” 

 

“You’re making a big deal out of nothing,” Mr. A replied. “Look, Margie, the kid was upset. He thinks that Oscar’s scene yesterday cost him his girlfriend. So, I said he could stay home. And, who cares what the doctor said? I was moving those rocks  _ perfectly _ fine. I don’t need to be on bedrest.” 

 

“I understand that! What I don’t understand is the fact that you keep flouting every recommendation the doctors give you. Are you  _ trying _ to make yourself worse? Are you--”

 

“Can you keep it down?” FP requested. “I wouldn’t care, normally, but, you know, Allie’s asleep.”

 

Allie had fallen asleep on his lap a few minutes prior, and he really didn’t want the Andrewses to wake her up, unless it was for something that was absolutely needed, like a fire, or if they had a chance to win a billion dollars. Not that he and Allie weren’t used to sleeping through couples arguing. The whole trailer park was full of it. He still didn’t think that she should have to deal with it, if it could be avoided. 

 

“Oh,” Mrs. A said, and she clapped a hand to her mouth. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize. Is she really?” 

 

“Yeah,” he said, and he pressed a kiss to the sleeping blonde’s head, as she snored loudly, and shifted closer to him. “I can wake her up, if--”

 

“No, that’s not needed, FP,” she assured him. “I’ve already told Arthur that you two will be living with us. Well, you three, I suppose.”   
  


“Two and a half, right now?” 

 

“That’s probably more accurate,” she agreed. “How has she been feeling?” 

 

“Okay, I guess,” he offered, and he shrugged his shoulders. “She’s had some morning sickness, but she says that’s normal.” For the sake of Fred’s parents, FP left out the bit about Allie’s awesome boobs, and about her increased sex drive. There were some things he felt that they didn’t need to know. “I just want to make sure that everything’s okay with her and the baby. That’s why we were going to go to the clinic.” 

 

“Don’t worry about getting her to the clinic,” she chastised. “I told you, I will take care of it. You don’t need to worry.”   
  
“But I want to go, to see the baby, and stuff, make sure everything is okay.”

 

“Of course you can,” she said. “You just leave the practical things to me, okay? I know that you think that you have to become the man of the house because Alice is pregnant, but you don’t have to rely on yourself for everything. We want to help. We will help.” 

 

“Yeah,” Mr. A agreed, from the couch he had taken up residence on. “We want to help with the baby. It’s sort of exciting, isn’t it? In a way.” 

 

“Not really sure that Freddie will find sharing his house with a squalling newborn to be exciting, Mr. A.” FP sighed. “I just don’t want the kid to hate us. Allie thinks that he won’t, but, I don’t want to risk anything.” 

 

“You won’t always be that kid’s favorite person,” Mr. A said. “That’s part of being a parent, kid, that’s part of life. But he, or she, they will  _ always _ love you. Who cares if you two are starting off a little younger than normal? I think that will be great for the sprog. No need for them to worry about whether you’re always going to be there, or not.”   
  


“Are you okay? Freddie said that you were sick,” he admitted. 

 

“Nah, don’t worry about me,” he said. “Worry about yourself and your girl, and the little one that’s on the way. I’ll be fine. Margie does enough worrying for twenty of us. Does Freddie know about the baby?”   
  


It was clear to FP that the baby was being used as a distraction technique, but he decided that he didn’t mind. If Mr. A wanted to talk about the kid as a good thing and not as a hideous fuck up, he wasn’t going to stand in his way. It would be good for the baby to know there were good people out there, and he hoped that the baby got to meet Mr. A, whom FP felt was up there with the best. He had always been jealous of Freddie for having a normal, functioning, family. It sucked that his old man was sick. 

 

“Yeah, Freddie knows,” he said, and he ran his hand down Allie’s side, as she shifted closer to him, while soundly asleep. “He definitely knows.” 


	8. hell it could be my fault

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was settled. Everyone at school thought he was a mama’s boy? He’d prove them wrong. He’d befriend Alice and FP, even if killed him.

“I don’t understand the Andrewses,” Margaret Cooper said with a sigh, her tone one of utter disapproval, and Hal glanced vaguely in his mother’s direction, unsure of what she was complaining about. “How dare they bring that girl and that boy into our neighborhood? Isn’t it bad enough that they let Fred be friends with that sort?” 

 

“Perhaps Arthur’s treatments have left him in an addled state,” Hal’s father, also named Harold, suggested, not bothering to look up from the paper that he was reading. “You know that they affect the brain, I hear?”

 

“Did he have a hit to the head?” 

 

“What’s the big deal?” Hal dared to say. Both his mother and father glanced at him. “Who cares who lives with Fred? He’s a punk ass, anyways. It’s not like I’m bringing the Smith girl into our house, or into my bedroom.” 

 

“I would certainly hope not,” his mother said with a sigh. “Surely you know better than to associate with...that sort.”

 

“Of course I do, Mom,” he said. “They’re Southsiders.” 

 

“Well, Margaret,” his father said. He lowered the paper. “It could always be worse. They could have invited those  _ Gomez _ people to live with them. At least the Jones boy and the Smith girl have things half right. They can be improved upon.” He cleared his throat. “I think you should associate with them, son,” he said. “How else will they learn to behave in the proper manner?” 

 

“I don’t think that it’s fair to expect our Harold to associate with the likes of them,” his mother said with a tisking sound, her hands on her hips. “Harold has friends, Hal. Upstanding citizens. Why send him on a path that he won’t recover from?” 

 

“I’m right here,” he said, and he pushed his chair out away from the table. “You really don’t think I should be friends with the charity cases next door?” 

 

“Of course I don’t!” 

 

It was settled. Everyone at school thought he was a mama’s boy? He’d prove them wrong. He’d befriend Alice and FP, even if killed him. And Hal honestly thought that FP Jones  _ might _ kill him, if he looked at Alice the wrong way. The one school project that he’d done with Alice as his partner had involved a lurking, serpentine, shadow, even though Jones wore a letterman’s jacket the same as he did. He knew where their paths would diverge. Hal would go off to college, and come home and take up his mantel at the family business, while he was sure that FP would  _ maybe  _ eke out a high school diploma before staring at  _ his _ family business, which was his father’s gang of hoodlums.

 

Hal had to admit he was jealous. 

 

Perhaps this was shortsighted of him, he admitted, but he didn’t see anything wrong with wanting to do something different, to step out of the mold that his parents forced him into. 

 

Maybe he  _ wanted _ to be a blue collar gang member in training? What did his mother know about anything?

 

Okay. He really didn’t want that. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t his own person who was capable of his own thoughts. He was! 

 

Maybe.

 

“Where are you going?” Hal Sr. asked with a grunt, taking a sliver of his grapefruit in his mouth before he returned his glance to the paper. “Don’t stay out late.”

 

“He’s not going anywhere,” his mother chastised. “He hasn’t practiced his piano yet.” 

 

Hal  _ detested _ playing the piano. 

 

“Screw the piano,” he said. “I’m leaving, and the two of you can’t stop me. I have plans.”

 

“What?” Margaret echoed. “Plans?”

 

“You heard the boy,” his father said. “Perhaps he’s caught the eye of one of the girls that go to St. Thomas’, Margaret. I say we let him go.” 

 

His mother pursed her lips. “Fine. Do not do anything I wouldn’t approve of, Harold.”

 

* * *

 

Allie felt uncomfortably exposed without her Serpent jacket on, especially in the neighborhood that they were currently in, but she respected that Fred’s parents seemed oblivious to the fact that she and FP were associated with a gang, and had reluctantly put it away in her closet, and chosen to swath herself in one of FP’s flannel shirts instead. 

 

What? She knew where they were. What those type of people thought of her. Of them. 

 

“Hi Mr. Andrews,” she said politely. “Are you feeling okay today?” 

 

Fred’s father looked no worse than he’d done the day before, and Allie hoped that it was the sign of an upswing. She didn’t understand why no one was willing to acknowledge the fact that it was likely that whatever treatments they were trying weren’t working, but, whatever. 

 

Fred lived in his own world sometimes. It was rarely worth arguing with him.

 

“I’m okay,” he said, after a moment. “Just resting.” 

 

Right. And Alice was the Queen of England. She faked a smile nonetheless. 

 

“Do you need anything?” 

 

“You mind pouring me a cuppa joe?” There was an empty coffee cup beside his chair, along with a barely picked at breakfast. “I just...I don’t know why I’m so tired.” 

 

She slinked across the room and grabbed the coffee cup, filling it from the coffee maker. Allie had seen them on television. It figured the Andrewses had one. 

 

“Do you want sugar?” 

 

He shook his head. “Black, sweetheart. My stomach is touchy today. You know how it goes. I have bad days and good days.” 

 

Alice forced herself to nod. “Freddy’s gonna get mad if he sees you didn’t eat,” she pointed out. “You want me to help you out there?” 

 

“He checks the trash,” Mr. Andrews said with a sigh. “I’ve tried.” 

 

She placed the mug in front of him. “No, I meant I would eat it for you,” she muttered. The thought of throwing out perfectly good food was beyond Alice, even if it was to spare Fred’s feelings. “He wouldn’t have to know, and nothing would be wasted.” 

 

“You’d do that for me?” 

 

She nodded. It was important for the baby for her to eat, and for everyone in the neighborhood to be spared Fred’s meltdown about the fact that his father  _ hadn’t _ eaten. It was all she could do not to explain to Fred that the treatments were not helping his dad. Except that she had seen what all attempts to do just that had done by his parents over the course of the week. 

 

Fred slammed a door shockingly well.

 

“I’m afraid the next time he flips his lid he’ll take a door off the hinge,” she said with a sigh. “I don’t think that we want that, do we?”


End file.
